


7 Years

by whosyourmaster



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, BAMF Stiles, Childhood, Childhood Friends, Childhood Memories, Drug Use, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt Stiles, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Kid Fic, M/M, POV Stiles, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Songfic, Stiles-centric
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-21
Updated: 2017-11-21
Packaged: 2019-02-05 08:48:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12790998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whosyourmaster/pseuds/whosyourmaster
Summary: Once he was 7 years old, Stiles life has never been an easy one. All he can hope to do is make it a fulfilling one.





	7 Years

Leaves scraped across the window, dried and red, sounding like tiny talons against the bulletproof glass. A chaotic series of beats that proved nature's obstinate to the metronomic sounds of the hospital. A refreshing tune that harkened to the brisk breezes that carried the leaves. The kind that filled the lungs and made a man feel as if he had never truly tasted air before. Not the kind of recycled oxygen that is mixed with the vapors of sanitizer, antiseptics, and medicine; making the act of breathing a chore at best. In here with the stale air, everything was within a rigid beat, a pace to which a soldier could goose-step through their day. Every sound fell into place, from the nurses’ squeaking rubber shoes to the knocking of visiting families, all lined up with the constant beep of heart monitors.  

Some nights it made it easier to sleep, others are was a pulsing in her brain. A perfect repeating beat to which she could write and rework her compositions till the sun edged above the trees’ leafy fingers. Pen and paper were long abandoned, music dying on the page before the ink dried. Her old heavily-noted copies loosely piled in with her baby’s crayon verses and bridges on the tableside. Masterworks in their own right, every bit as full of life as the little ball of sea breeze that made her every breathe a treasure.

“Momma,” Squeaks came from the corner door. “Look at what I made today!” A ball of energy and brown hair bowled into the small room. Breezing in and breaking up the metronome of the hospital, knocking into the small tables and chairs that decorated the sparce room. Knobby limbs and light up sneakers coming to a sudden stop, leaving squeaky streaks across the linoleum. “Well hello to you too, young man. Where is your father?”

“He is parking the cruiser. Look at what I made!” The little one went on, pushing himself up into the closest chair. Standing he leaned over the precarious gap and reached out the paper in his hand. A little wave to make the paper even more enticing as it was crinkled in a surprisingly large clutching fist. With long fingers, the woman plucked the red construction paper from the boy’s hands. Opening up the sloppily folded paper she looked at the brightly colored marker lines across the page. Three lopsided faces smiled back up. Two taller figures flanked the small one, their stick-like hands connected in a handhold. All with brown hair, two with bright brown eyes and one with deep blue.  At the top was written out  “Freindshep means to me.... Beinng with my Mama and Papa,” in bold black crayon.

“Oh Mieczyslaw, dear. This is beautiful. Did you make this?” “Yeah.”

“Couldn’t possibly, such skill much belong to a great artist.” A light popping noise coming from the light slam of palm to cheek.

“I made it! I made it!”

“Wow, who knew we had such a multi-talented artist in the family. Tell me, what is this up here?” She asked, pointing to the patch of scribbles the resembles an upside-down tree with two dot eyes.

“That’s a bat! Did you know that bats use sounds to hunt prey!? A lot of people think they are scary because they eat your blood, but most actually eat fruit. They can hear the sound bouncing off things and find it. How cool would that be to have!?” The boy went on, hopping down from the chair and flopping his limp backpack on the ground. After some blind searching, he produced a slightly ripped copy of Zoobooks: Bats.

“That’s amazing, did you learn that in class today?” The woman asked, “Did you rent that from the library?”

“No... the teacher made me sit out at recess and read it.” The right sneaker lighting up as it was scuffed back and forth.

“Why did you have to sit out of recess?” An edge of weary knowledge already twinging her question.

“I pulled Lydia’s hair... again.” Both shoes alight as he shifted back and forth.

“Przełaz, that wasn’t very nice.”

“I know, I’m sorry.” Anxious energy flooding up his tiny body into bouncing knees, twisting shirts in fists and biting at lips. The upturned nose pointed towards the floor with his head dipped so low in regret. A stray piece of leaf tangled in his hair, tousled and windswept from the autumn weather. Brushing back the knotted strands, deciding that a good brushing was in need on the next visit, she raised his head high as it should be.

“It’s okay Genim.” She replied going back to looking the drawing, pretending to be inspecting it with a critical eye. Mostly that involved her squinting one eye as if she was thinking really hard. The small boy stared up at her with wide eyes, like the fate of his future career was under scrutiny.  It might of well have been with the wide-eyed look she was receiving in the periphery. “You like it? I want you to have it.”

“Thank you Mieczyslaw, I love it.” She said with a warm smile, softly plopping the card down onto the side table, atop the music sheets, next to the wilting flowers and half eaten meal. Wide smiling and with a great vaulting jump he landed face first in his mother’s lap. Giggling softly she helps rearrange his gangly arms as he settled into a seated position next to her.

“I drew my two best friends, you and Papa,” Mieczyslaw said with a huge smile, flashing the gap in his front teeth from the last tooth fairy's visit. Tucked up under her arm and bosom, his constant heat radiated onto her chilled side.

“What about your other friends?”

“I don’t have others. All I need is you guys.” He said picking at a fresh scab on his knee. His mother gave the top of his head a sad look, squeezing him closer, eliciting a flood of giggles and squirms.

“Przełaz, are you not making friends at school?”

“No...” He huffed still staring at his lap but snuggling closer to her side. “They say I’m weird.” There was a slight tone of upset in his voice as he went on, putting his smaller hand into her’s, careful to avoid the IV tube.

“Why would they say that sweetie?”

“I don’t know...because I don’t sit still and I talk too much and the teacher doesn’t like me and I come here every day and I don't have the new Pokemon game and because Jackson is a butt.” He listed off getting more worked up as he went, ticking the reasons off on his fingers. Neck bent down again as his knees curled in, a defensive ball.

He stayed all knotted up. Even though her light-hearted prods, kisses upon his ticklish nape, even the loud boot falls of his father rushing in. A tired and sweaty police deputy with a wide gapped grin and dirtied uniform. Still as handsome as the day he asked her 30 extra cents. “How are you feeling today, Lady Bird?” The rough voice that matched his hangared dress, but the eyes twinkled with every bit of mischief and warmth that caught her eye on the bus, had her hand over her number, say yes when he was on a knee, and even create the little ball of life at her side.

A questioning look followed as she rubbed her son’s tense neck. “Well...What about this boy I see around here?” Wrapping her index around a particularly long lock. “His momma takes care of me and I am sure he could use a friend while she is busy.” She went on, light scratching his scalp while her deputy wrapped a calloused palm around the other. Both her boys, so warm. “I don’t know. I have you and Papa, I don’t need anyone else.” Muddled response smushed between knees and stomach.

“Oh Przełaz, I love you so much and so does your Papa, but you need to have friends your own age too. Don’t you want to have someone to talk about cartoons with?” The little boy didn’t answer outside of a pained affirmative sound. “I know you get bored here as well when I am sleeping or Papa is at work. Wouldn’t be nice to have someone to play with so you aren't so lonely?” A slight sniff this time came out. Letting go of her husband’s hand she tugged on ankles and wrists to untwine the ball, draping the long limbs across herself. Her own personal heated blanket.

The metronome of beeps took over again, regulating the world back into its tight form step. Small snores game from her blanket as she and her husband recounted their respective day. For her, a series of tests and a handful of hours left unaccounted for. For him six speeders, four sound complaints, two drunk and disorderly and one more domestic disturbance at the Martin place. At some point, the beeping started to work its magic, the haze of sleep starting to creep in. Just in time for a call from the station about a fire leading to a rushed “Be back soon Lady Bird.”  and awkward grace of lips to cheek. The kind that made you want to rub at the invisible smudge.

As he left, she curled in close to her snoring treasure, leeching what heat she could. Conscious haze set in like a nap with no dreams but no memories of what you heard from the real world while still. Five seconds, or five hours, later the light caress to her shoulder got her to open her eyes.

Fizzled curl’s, barely contained by hairpins, brushing across dimpled cheeks, the “Nurse Mccall” pen skewed sideways on her leafy pattern scrubs.  A warm smile spread across the woman's mouth as she rolled over, jostling her leggy sloth of a child still clinging. “ Melissa, how are you?”

“I am good Claudia, had a lovely night off yesterday. How are you today?”

“Solid four I would have to say” even going as far to imitate the straight lined mouth and dead eyes of the pain chart.

Melisa gave a small smile with her sigh, luckily the pain was lower than usual. “Well he looks comfortable,” She started running her own ink-stained fingers through Przełaz hair. “Unfortunately I need to take you to get another MRI done.” that prompted the three-minute universal struggle all parents encountered, rising a napping child. A true obstacle that came with snorts, grunts, slapping limbs and watery eyes. “Przełaz, time to get up.” She persevered on, “Momma needs to go with the nurse for a little.”

“I’ll go too,” came the slurred response even as he just rolled over more to cover his head from her probing fingers, “daddy says as the man of the house I got to keep an eye on you.”

“And what a man you have been, all 52.5 inches of you has put my heart at ease,” chuckling she kissed his nose, “but right now the best way you can look after me is to let me go with Nurse McCall.”  A boy with moppish brown curls poked around the corner, trying to sneak a look in without being detected. Alas a mother's instinct, pinpointed the movement in a flash.

“Scott, what are you doing?” Nurse McCall asked, crossing her arms preparing to either reprimand or rush to help her own baby. The boy ducked back quickly as if he could trick the woman into thinking he was an illusion. “Scott....”  The boy came fully into the room.

“My Gameboy died and I got bored.” Clearly a rehearsed exchange from the flat delivery. “I’m sorry honey, but I’m with a patient right now, you’ll have to wait a little bit. Can you read your books?”

“I already did...”

“Why don’t you go play with him Przełaz.”  The woman saw her chance and took it, urging her baby towards the other boy. “Mrs. McCall has some tests for me to do.”

Her boy gave a shy nod, slipping off the bed like a wet blanket. Rounding the corner he walked near enough to the other boy to convince his mother that they were already friends. The boy was short, a weird pudgy square with boxy face and feet. With a jaw shoved to one side. “Cool shoes.” the kid quietly offered. “Thanks... I like your shirt,” Przełaz returned pointing to the power rangers pajama shirt. “I love that show.”

“Me too! My name is Scott. What is yours?” Power rangers bandaged hand popped out for the most of the adult styled handshakes, all business that a seven-year-old could hold. “Mieczyslaw.” And the hand dropped, along with brows and the overly straighten spin, into a cured slouch, tilted look, and furrowed brows.“Me.... Mie... Miccesslaaw?”

“No, Mieczyslaw. My Momma calls me Przełaz sometimes though.” The boy replied, seemingly already resigned to a future of mispronunciations, misstep introductions and misspelled Starbucks cups. “What does that mean?” Scott went on.

“It’s Polish for Stiles.”

“What’s a Stiles?” The wrinkle in his brow wouldn’t leave, the merging of two hair beasts.

“My grandpa.” The brows dipped lower before rocking back up and the confusion all but was forgotten.

“Stiles... Can I call you Stiles?” the kid's hair flopping as he tilted it to one side.

“I guess so.” It honestly felt a little off, Stiles wasn’t a well-loved name in his home. Ignorant to the hesitation Scott lead Stiles down the hallway, passed warmly smiling nurses at their station into a back room labeled employees only. In one corner was a pile of bright colored books, a yellow Gameboy Color with the left select button missing and three discount action figures. The floppy hair bounced as Scott snatched up the figures and turned to present them in all their chewed up plastic glory. “Would you like to play superhero hyper extreme with me?”

**Author's Note:**

> the world could always use some more song fics. Here is my adition using the 7 years by


End file.
